Chapter 4: Things to Do
“Love?” Spike’s voice came filtering through, shaking her out of her thoughts.
“Yea?” she asked back, turning her head to meet his gaze.
“Not that this sitting here in silence isn’t fun, but s’pose we ought to go to sleep now, what with the big battle brewin’ soon?”
“Yea…” she replied.
He’d noticed they were still holding hands – she noticed that he’d noticed. She laughed, and said something about her forgetting about the time because of the nice “silence-y comfortable goodness” Yea, was good, wasn’t it? he thought. Thought it was a “good” on his part, he didn’t know what Buffy was thinking during all that “silence-y goodness”. How long had they sat like that anyways – how long had she been holding his hand?
“So…” Buffy said, interrupting his thoughts – but still holding his hand. “How are we going to do this?” There was a bit of awkwardness in her voice as she stared at him expectantly. The last time they slept together, in the non keep-you-up-all-night-with-my-vampire-stamina way, was just the other night. But that was on a pretty big bed with no implications being made. Sure they held each other all night – her in his arms first, comforting, and then sometime throughout the night she had become the holder and him the holdee, though his arms had remained wrapped around her. Not possessively, but as if he thought that if he let go, she wouldn’t be there in the morning. And she wasn’t, but for a different reason than he’d ever had assumed. But now, tonight, on his cot – his small, intimate cot – there wasn’t much room for them to be anywhere but right up against each other.
“Like the other night?” he finally asked, and her smile and nod confirmed approval. She got up, letting go of his hand as she stood at the side of his bed, and immediately he felt the drop in temperature, immediately felt a twinge of pain – like her holding his hand to begin with was just an empty gesture. But he cast that thought aside – didn’t matter anyway, Buffy’d soon be in his arms, and that was enough for him.
He turned sideways and pushed himself up against the wall, as far as he could go. She asked to stay with him, no way he was going to assume and push things. She’d be in his arms, but he didn’t want her to feel obligated about it. He relaxed himself up on his elbows and peered up at her, but she was starting to walk away. He sat up immediately, cursing himself for pushing things. He should’ve let her do what she wanted to do, and just follow her lead…
She noticed him sit up, saw the disappointment in his eyes, and immediately felt a rush of guilt. “No, no! I’m just – you can sleep in your clothes just fine, but I need the comfort-y goodness of pajamas.”
She saw his shoulders fall in relief, a smile creep over his face.
“I’m just gonna sneak upstairs and get something out of my room – try not to wake up any of the sleeping bodies on my way.” She paused, made sure to let him know, really let him know, and said “I’ll be back in a few minutes, ok?” He looked up at her, sitting up now, and nodded. “Good, ok” She turned around, satisified with his easy acceptance, making her way up the basement stairs.
—————————————————————————————————————-
Pretty soon she was up the stairs and out the door, and Spike was alone. He wondered then if maybe he had just dreamt all of that. After all, Buffy holding his hand? Not bloody likely. But his hand, though familiarly cold now, still had some lingering warmth. Enough to assure him that it wasn’t a dream.
When she hadn’t layed down, and she walked away – he thought she was leaving. Leaving in the “I made a mistake” and “this is all wrong” sense. Damn near broke his heart. But she wasn’t leaving, just – getting something. If he hadn’t spent the previous night sleeping with her, he’d be all sorts of nervous and anxious now. Or, more pathetically anxious and nervous now. He’d have been analyzing every minute between when she first walked down there that night, to now. When she first came in, after she had just been kissing that ponce, Sir Broods-A-Lot. Bloody hell. That will never not piss him off. But she held his hand and sat beside him and called their silence “comfortable goodness”, and said she was his Girl. That had to mean something to more than just him.
He wasn’t just a shoulder to cry on, because she hadn’t cried. And he wasn’t there just to say whatever she needed him to say to make herself better, because they hadn’t really said anything.
He got up, annoyed and confused. He’d go punch the punching bag – pretend it was Angel some more – but he’d probably end up waking some Slayerette upstairs from the noise, and that’s not what he wanted. If one of them woke up, they’d all wake up. And if they all woke up, Buffy might not come back. Definitely not something he wanted.
He was tired of the over-analyzations though, tired of trying to read Buffy’s every thought, decipher her every move. If this were last year, he wouldn’t care. If Buffy came to him, he’d say something to her he knew would piss her off, get up right on her, spar word for word with her. Eventually she’d throw herself on him and after a while – a long while – she’d run out of his crypt, virtue a’ fluttering. He’d run after her, catch up to her. Get up right close in her face, so close she would look like a blur. He’d lean in, close enough to kiss her if he wanted [close enough for her to kiss him if she wanted]. He’d breathlessly word out something about her wanting what he wanted, feeling what he felt, his lips brushing up against hers as he spoke – his hand brushing the hair out of her face, her waist pushed up against his – them fitting together perfectly the way that they did. But now, now it was Buffy’s game. S’pose it always had been, but back then he wasn’t afraid to break some of her rules. Now, it was what she wanted, when she wanted it. Probably had something to do with the soul, he figured – some sort of conscious, made sure he did the right thing by her. He sighed, frustrated, wishing like hell he had his cigarettes.
—————————————————————————————————————-
She walked up the stairs, silently, putting those Slayer abilities to good use. She didn’t want to make a noise, wake up any Potentials. All she wanted to do was change into something she could sleep in. She probably should’ve just let it be – slept in what she was wearing – but tomorrow was important. She needed a good night’s sleep. A good night’s sleep with Spike, she reminded herself. How come it felt so OK? She could’ve sat there all night, not saying much of anything with him. What was it she so brilliantly called it? “Silence-y comfortable goodness”? And it was. Just her and him. Holding hands. She saw the look in his eyes when she finally let go of his hand – knew what he probably thought that meant, but he pretended it hadn’t bothered him so she didn’t have to say anything about it. Not that she didn’t want to let him know that that was real, but she figured she’d let him know tonight, show him. That’s probably why she was so nervous now. How was she going to show Spike that she cared? Her telling him wouldn’t be enough. He’d accept it, but never believe it – at least not for too long. She wasn’t quite ready to do anything of the “favorite position” sort – but this could be their last night together, this could be their last night ever – could be her last night. Could be his. She shuddered at the thought. It could be all of their last night’s alive. She wondered if they all knew how much she cared – if all her friends knew how much she loved them. She couldn’t think about that, not now. They all would survive. The only deaths would be of the Ubervamp kind. Those were the thoughts she needed to believe, otherwise she’d just end up going back down into the basement and never leave the comfort of Spike’s arms. The safety of Spike’s arms. So she concentrated more on missing all of the squeaky spots on the hallway floor than on “last nights”.
She was going to go to her room, sneak something out of her closet – but she instinctively went to Dawn’s. We’re the same size…about…anyways she told herself. Dawn’s door was already cracked open – luckily – so she just had to slide through. She let her eyes adjust to the darkness before moving forward – she knew Dawn wasn’t the only one in there and she didn’t want to wake anyone up. Once she could see a little better, she scoped out the area and took notice of the sleeping Potentials on the floor, Dawn alone in her bed. She stepped over…one of them – she couldn’t remember all their names, and besides, it was dark – and made her way to the bed. She stopped at the side of the bed and looked down at her little sister. She looked peaceful, safe. Not afraid. She bent over, brushing back some of Dawn’s loose hair.
“Dawn?” she whispered.
“…I didn’t do it!…” Dawn mumbled, then muffled assurance that she was still sleeping. Good. What Buffy wanted to say would come out easier without Dawn being awake. She sat down softly on the edge of her bed, watching her sister sleep for a few minutes, brushing the loose strands of her hair away from Dawn’s face. Just memorizing this moment, taking it in with the knowledge that it might be the last time she did it.
“Dawn – I just wanted to let you know how proud I am of you. I never once stopped caring for you. I don’t regret once jumping in your place. You have to know that, that everything I do, I do for you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better sister, I’m sorry I wasn’t good at being mom – all them times I yelled at you, it was just me being frustrated with me, Dawn. Tomorrow…tomorrow is big. I don’t know who’s coming out of it – but I know you will. Because you’re a fighter. I know you and me will get through it, like we always do. It’s me and you, always, ok? I need you to be strong tomorrow, be strong like I know you can be. I’m counting on you, because I can’t make it alone. I love you, Dawn. I need you to know that. Remember that – I’ll always love you.”
Dawn was still asleep, covers pulled up tight against her. She got off the bed, kissing Dawn on the cheek before quietly making her way over to Dawn’s dresser. Then, as quietly as possible, she pulled out the closest thing to pajamas that were on top. She tip toed her way to the door, turning around to look at her sister once more, and then slipped back out into the hallway. Slowly moving along, she silently made her way to the bathroom to change.
—————————————————————————————————————-
She was still gone. Probably had only been gone a few minutes, but it felt like damn near forever. He had to do something. He couldn’t just stand there counting the seconds until she came back, like some ponce – he had to save a few remaining bits of dignity. He couldn’t hit the punching bag, cause of the potentail of waking up Potentials. He couldn’t smoke because he’d already smoked his last bloody cigarette. He was stuck in this sodding basement, left with nothing to occupy him but his own thoughts. Fun, traiterous thoughts that had him doubting himself more than anything. He glanced over to the dresser next to his cot and noticed something shiny. The amulet.He walked over to it – stood staring at it for a minute before picking it up. “Angel said the amulet was meant to be worn by a Champion.” ‘Bout near destroyed him when she first said it. Almost destroyed him twice in the same bloody sentence. First, with the obvious comparison to Hero McChamp – bloody poof – but more with her not thinking he was worthy. Yea, “evil, soulless thing” – they’d danced that dance before, but with the soul that he fought to get – he thought that’d make things different. Guess it did, because she gave it to him. Placed it in his hands with this look on her face… Hell, what was it? Was almost like she really thought he was a Champion, he wasn’t just their last resort. She was smiling – glowing.
This thing better work, cause there’s no way he’d wear Angel’s gift if it didn’t. She could find some other spineless git to wear it.
Who was he kidding, it was his. It’d be the death of him, literally. He’d known that the instant he saw it. From the way she’d clutched to it, from the importance of the word ‘Champion’. No way this thing looks as ugly as it does and not have some sort of fatal consequence. But it was okay – he’d wear it. Hell, it’d mean he’d get to go out in a blaze of glory, her proud of him. Her thinking so highly of him.
Yea, he’d wear it. For her, he’d wear it.